


The Eve of Battle

by ashberae



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Mild Spoilers, Olberic chapter 2, Victor's Hollow, background Therion/Primrose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-13 04:54:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16010693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashberae/pseuds/ashberae
Summary: When it comes to Cyrus' ability to protect the man who holds his heart, he can never be too safe.





	The Eve of Battle

As the day slipped into dusk, the merchants of Victor’s Hollow began putting away their wares and preparing their shop tents for the evening. Cyrus completed his purchase, passing leaves over to the shop woman for the two olives of life she had remaining. They were in short supply in Victor’s Hollow during tournament season. Wrapping the olives gingerly and tucking them away in his cloak, Cyrus turned and followed the sounds of raucous laughter to the tavern across the courtyard.

“Do you not think us stocked enough for tomorrow’s tourney?”

The quiet voice startled Cyrus, who snapped his attention to the blond man appearing at his elbow. 

“Therion!” Cyrus said, his hand going to the pocket in his cloak on reflex.

“Surely you do not fear I would steal from you, friend. What is mine is yours, and vice versa.”

Therion pressed a gentle hand to Cyrus’ arm, turning him to face the thief. Cyrus schooled his expression into one of contrition. No, he didn’t expect Therion, or any of their companions, to do him or any of their party harm, but when it came to his ability to protect the one who held his heart, he could never be too safe.

“Of course not. You just startled me, is all,” Cyrus said, allowing a flush to bloom over his face as if embarrassed. He redirected the conversation. “Are you headed to the tavern?”

Therion held his arm a moment longer, eyes searching his face, mouth poised to ask a question that Cyrus mentally willed him to let go. Finally, he allowed the segue. “I was. Can I buy you an ale?”

Cyrus forced a smile across his face. “I would be most appreciative of that.”

The two men walked closely together through the courtyard, children running past their legs, townsfolk making last-minute bets ahead of the next day’s tournament. Therion hummed under his breath and Cyrus could almost hear his thoughts ordering themselves into sentences.

“You know,” Therion began, his hand absently gesturing in the air ahead of them, “all of us will do everything within our power to prevent harm coming to Olberic tomorrow. You do know that, right?”

Cyrus hadn’t been aware he was holding his breath until he let it out, quickly and loudly. “I know. But everything is not within our power. And I…” he trailed off, swallowing hard. “I cannot take too many precautions. You understand, don’t you?” He turned his eyes on Therion, willing him to understand.

“Aye, friend. I understand. I was in your shoes not a month back in Stillsnow, with Prim.”

“Then you know why I cannot be too careful. Even the few olives I’ve been able to squirrel away, they might not be enough. There are three battles on the morrow, Therion. Three!”

Therion stopped, pulling Cyrus to a secluded corner of the courtyard. They were only feet from the tavern, boisterous voices and clinking cups ringing in the air.

“We could not be more prepared, Cyrus. Olberic is our fiercest fighter; he has put down monsters with one blow. Three men is nothing. And he’ll have us – you – by his side. Ophilia has been training you in the way of the Cleric, and your healing abilities have nearly surpassed your magick. There is nothing more we can do to prepare; we are as prepared as it is possible to be. Tomorrow, we will be victorious, you will see. You _have_ to believe it, Cyrus. You have to believe in us, and believe in _him_.”

Cyrus closed his eyes, breath heavy, running Therion’s words through his head. _You have to believe him_. There was no one he believed in more than Olberic Eisenberg.

 

***

 

There were only three rooms to go around, but the others did not hesitate giving one to Cyrus and Olberic alone. “You need this time. Savor each other,” Tressa said, pressing a key into Cyrus’ palm. Olberic was steady and solid as ever as he took Cyrus by the hand and guided him to their room.

“Something is on your mind, love. Would you like to share it with me?” Olberic asked as he removed his metal shoulder guards.

Cyrus had stalled just inside the locked door of their room. He leaned his weight back against the wood and savored the sight of Olberic moving through the room. He was large, shoulders wide, legs long, muscles earned from years of wielding his broadsword giving his body a solidity that belied the grace with which Olberic moved.

“I’m anxious for tomorrow. I don’t want it to come, and at the same time I want it to be over.” 

“Oh, Cy,” Olberic sighed, moving closer to the scholar and taking him into his arms. Cyrus resisted at first, just slightly, not wanting to be pacified as a one would soothe a babe, but he couldn’t deny the comfort that came from Olberic’s warmth surrounding him. “We will be at each other’s sides tomorrow. We’ve been victorious in battles more unevenly matched than this.”

Cyrus knew, intellectually, that Olberic was right. They’d bested beasts and men alike throughout their long journey. But a part of him couldn’t help but be a little frightened. The other six were his friends, to be sure. But this was _Olberic_ they were talking about. The man he loved.

“You shouldn’t be the one comforting me tonight, Olberic. It is I who should do as much as I can to help you prepare for tomorrow.”

“Holding you is all the preparation I need,” Olberic said, his face nestling into the crook of Cyrus’ neck and shoulder. He laid a small kiss to the tender skin there, his hands moving up Cyrus’ back and tightening in a firm embrace. Cyrus melted just a little at this man who hung his moons and stars.

Slowly, sweetly, they undressed each other. It took Olberic much longer to remove Cyrus’ many layers of clothing, mumbling as he always did about why so many cloaks and waistcoats were necessary for one man. The familiar banter lightened Cyrus’ heart and he felt laughter bubbling in his chest.

Once bared to the moonlight streaming through the open window, the two men climbed onto the single bed situated along the far wall of the small room. They fell easily into their usual position, Olberic stretched out on his back, one arm around Cyrus as he nestled into the bigger man’s chest, their legs entwined.

“I love you,” Cyrus said quietly, his words merely whispers on the light breeze that danced across their skin.

“And I you, my heart,” Olberic responded, his arm tightening around Cyrus’ shoulders.

Cyrus shifted, moving his weight up and on top of Olberic’s body, arms coming up to frame his face. He ran one finger lightly along the scar that ran along Olberic’s temple. It was years old, but hadn’t faded much over time. Olberic’s eyes shone as he watched, bringing a hand up to brush Cyrus’ black hair from his eyes. They simply lay there, holding each other’s gaze, breath warm against each other’s mouths.

“I know this is just another step along the path. After you win tomorrow – and I have to believe you will win – there is still so much to come before you’ve fulfilled your duty. I know it may take us a long time. But, after…” Cyrus’ voice drifted off. He hadn’t allowed himself to think much about an after, what would come when they’d fulfilled their duties and were ready to return to their lives. But something about the eve of battle urged him to dream of their happy ending. Something to strive for.

Olberic leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to Cyrus’ lips. “I don’t know where ‘after’ will take us, Cy. But I do know that it will take us there together. Do not worry otherwise. There is no one else I’d rather have by my side.”

Cyrus’ body relaxed, melting onto Olberic’s chest and bringing their lips together in a deeper kiss. This, this right here, was what he wanted for the rest of their lives. What he fought for each and every day. Their missions were important, yes, as were their careers. Neither man would give their duty up. But they could have this, too.

Their bodies stirred, arousal a slow thing unfurling in Cyrus’ belly. But tonight wasn’t for the pleasures of skin. Tonight, this was what they both needed. Arms around each other, slow, deep kisses, and the promise of their future. Because despite his apprehension about what they would face when they woke, he believed in this. There was no one he believed in more than Olberic Eisenberg.


End file.
